19

 

 

Eve took her time, even let the MTs clean up and slap some NuSkin over the gash on her hand.

The bruises elsewhere, and she had plenty of them, could wait. Because she wanted privacy, and air, she stepped outside with

Roarke.

They’d moved the barricades in, closing off the area directly around the building. That didn’t stop the gawkers and reporters—and really, what was the difference—from pressing against those barricades. But she could, and she did, ignore the questions spewed out, turned her back to cameras aimed in her general direction.

“You’d think people would have something better to do.”

“For most of these? Murder doesn’t come into their lives every day.”

“Then they should be grateful.” She actively wanted to kick something. And her own ass would have done the job. “I screwed up in there.”

“What? When and how?” he demanded. “And remember I was there.”

“You weren’t in here.” She tapped her temple. “Too much in here kept thinking of her as a kid. I told everybody, forget her age, it doesn’t apply. But I didn’t. She got off strikes, at you, at Peabody.

Strikes that could have done serious damage, and the flash grenades on top of it, because I didn’t move faster and harder.”

“You’re going to have to review your own recorder and see for yourself how completely bollocks that is.”

“Faster and harder,” she repeated. “Even when I had her one-on- one, I . . . I think maybe I held back just a little, just enough.”

“If that’s true—and, as I’ve had a look at both of you after that one- on-one, I tend to disagree—the only one that got hurt is yourself.”

He wanted to take that wounded hand, kiss it, brush his lips over the darkening bruises on her face. But he judged, at that moment, she needed her dignity more than the distraction.

“She’s not like you, Eve. She’s never been like you, will never be like you.”

“Got that.” She blew out a breath that streamed white in the cold, vanished. “Maybe I didn’t before, but I’ve got that solid now. And I won’t be holding back when I take her in the box.”

She looked at him then, those wild blue eyes. Had it really been that same day they’d—tired, sickened, stressed—swiped at each other with Summerset between them?

It felt like years had passed.

“You should go home,” she told him, “and sleep.”

Reaching into her pocket, he pulled out the snowflake cap, pulled it over her head. “Did you miss the memo, where I sleep when you do?”

“Then you should go home, buy a couple planets. Seriously, you must have work you’ve shuffled aside for this.”

“I can work at Central.”

She blew out a second breath, met those gorgeous blue eyes again. “We’re going to have to get you a damn office at the shop.”

“Tempting.” He smiled. “But thanks all the same. That makes it just a bit too official for the likes of me.”

“The likes of you helped bring her down. Don’t forget it. Those people over there? The ones who don’t have murder in their lives every day, and are really hoping to see some blood, maybe a DB? Any one of them, Roarke. Any one of them could have been next, and they don’t get that. They’ll talk over a brew later about being this close to a killer. They’ll be able to talk about it because you helped bring her down.”

“Yet I’m not the one with a six-inch gash on my hand, a black eye

—and I suspect bruises elsewhere.”

“Yeah.” She shifted her aching shoulders. “We’ll get to the elsewhere later.”

“Ah, my personal bonus.”

“Well.” She flicked her good hand over the cap, nodded. “If you’re going to work at Central, let’s get moving. Peabody! How about you drive?” she said to Roarke. “I’ve got some things to set up.”

She started setting them up as they circumvented the barricade, ignored the crowd, and headed back to the car.

Nadine came first.

“You fed me false information,” Nadine said immediately, with some serious rancor.

“No, I didn’t. I just didn’t give you all the information. Why does your face look like that? What’s wrong with your left eye?”

“Nothing! I’m trying to get camera ready between lightning bulletins.” And she continued to expertly line her left eye as she ranted. “You weren’t anywhere near Lexington Avenue.”

“Not personally, but there was an op in place there, as I told you.” “But you and Willow Mackie weren’t in that place, in that operation.

Now I’ve got to get my ass into the station, go on air, and spin all my earlier bulletins so I don’t look like an ass, while New York–One happened to have a damn reporter half a block from where you took that bitch down, and has already done live remotes right on scene.”

“Well, you could do that,” Eve said as Roarke drove. “Or you could get your half-camera-ready self down to Central and broadcast a one-on-one exclusive with the primary who led the op and took that bitch down. If you take option two, you’d better get there fast.”

“Fifteen minutes,” Nadine said and cut Eve off.

“Peabody, arrange for Willow Mackie to be brought into an Interview room as soon as she’s medically cleared. And find out if she’s asked for a lawyer. Reo,” she said into her ’link. “Willow Mackie’s been taken into custody.”

“So I heard—New York–One’s all over it. I’m on my way into Central.”

“Good. We need to talk.”

“Did you get your face banged up in the arrest?” “Yeah, there was a little . . . scuffle.”

“Isn’t that a shame?” Reo smiled sweetly. “Put some ice on it. I’ll see you there.”

Eve spent the rest of the drive contacting Mira, then Whitney.

The minute Roarke pulled into her slot in Central’s garage, Eve hopped out. “Peabody?”

“Interview A. She’s been cleared medically, and will be brought up within the next ten. She hasn’t said the L word yet.”

“Good. I want you to forget her age.” “Done. Believe me.”

“But work her like that’s a factor for you.”

“Sympathetic.” Peabody sighed, and sighed long. “I’m always sympathetic.”

“Because it comes off real. But over that, play the disappointed and somewhat angry teacher to the student who fucked up. Adult to child, and the adult’s in charge.”

“I can do that.”

“There’s more, and we need to work out the timing in a huddle with Reo. I’m going to square things with Nadine.” Eve rocked on her heels in the elevator as she calculated. “All in all that should give her a solid twenty minutes to sit and wait in the box.”

“She’s used to waiting,” Peabody pointed out.

“Not for this. If you want to observe,” she began, glancing over at Roarke.

“I’ll be in and out. And close enough when you’re finished with this.”

She got off the elevator, headed straight for her office.

“I’m going to tap your coffee,” Roarke told her, “before I take myself off to a quiet spot for an hour or so.”

“You can use my office.”

“I may end up there, but you’ll need it for a bit, won’t you?” Even as he said it, they stepped in to find Reo waiting. “That was fast.”

“I’d just gone to my office. If I’m working on Saturday, I might as well work. Hi, Roarke.”

“I’ll be out of your way in just a moment. Coffee?”

“Oh boy, yeah. What happened to your hand?” she asked Eve. “She had a knife.” Eve sat on the edge of her desk, took the coffee

Roarke offered.

“I’ll take mine to go.” Unconcerned about Eve’s dignity in front of Reo, Roarke caught Eve’s chin in his hand, kissed her firmly. “Go

finish it.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Reo smiled at him. “At a happier event.” “What’s tomorrow?” Eve demanded as Roarke strolled out. “Bella’s birthday party.”

“What? No, that’s . . . tomorrow?”

“Sunday afternoon,” Reo confirmed. “And really good timing as it turns out.”

Eve stared into her coffee. “I just can’t catch a break.”

“Oh, what’s your problem? It’s happy! There’ll be cake—and surely adult beverages. Now let’s talk about our murderous teenager.”

“Yeah, wait. I want Peabody in on this.”

To make that happen, Eve merely stepped to the door, shouted, “Peabody!”

But she did program a coffee regular and shove it into her partner’s hand when Peabody came in, double-time clomp.

“Close the door. Okay, here’s how I want to play it. There’s some timing involved.”

Eve ran it through for them. Together they discussed strategy, tactics, legalities. As she finished off her coffee, she glanced over at the sharp knock on her door.

“That’s going to be Nadine. Peabody, go on and check on our suspect—from Observation. I’m going to need about ten minutes.”

Eve opened the door. Before Nadine could spew out the words that went with the hard gleam in her eyes, Reo stepped forward.

“Hey! How are you? I heard you were at Madison Square.” “Backstage and out of the action.”

“Plenty of action around here, and more to come. If I don’t get a chance to see you before you leave, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Same goes.” And Peabody, recognizing that gleam, hustled out with Reo.

Now Nadine shut the door. “You lied to me.”

“I did not. Would I, if it saved lives? Absolutely. But I didn’t. I used you,” Eve added. “And as a result you saved lives. One of them could have been mine. Thanks.”

“What kind of bullshit—”

“It’s not. You can spend the time I have to give you bitching at me, or you can let me lay it out for you then have your exclusive. Your

choice.”

The gleam stayed hard. “We’re supposed to be friends, over and above the rest of it, Dallas. We’re supposed to be friends.”

“Yeah, that happened. That happened and because of it I never thought of or considered tagging anyone else. I know my friends. I may have more of them than I actually want, but I know them or they wouldn’t be. And I knew I could count on you.”

“You could have told me the truth, and still counted on me.”

Since she’d figured they’d have to push through this first, Eve shrugged, programmed coffee for Nadine.

“I did tell you the truth. I left out the part of it that would have compromised your journalistic integrity.” She passed Nadine the coffee. “Because, fuck it, Nadine, we’re not supposed to be friends. We are.”

“Just how did—” Obviously still riding on plenty of mad, Nadine stopped herself, held up a hand. “Fine. Lay it out.”

“I was on my way to the op on Lex. And I peeled off on a hunch. It hit me, that’s all. It just did, and when it did, I knew I needed a distraction if the hunch played out. I fed you the Lexington Avenue op when I verified the suspect was holed up—with a fucking armory

—at her mother’s house. She’d have spotted us coming in, and it’s a pretty sure bet somebody, many more than a couple of somebodies would be in the hospital now, if not the morgue, if we hadn’t been able to distract her. You coming on with the bulletin fixed her attention on her screen. It made her believe she was safe where she was, and I could call in the rest of the team while we moved in on her.

“She’s in Interview now, Nadine, and with minimal damage to all parties, because you told her what I needed her to hear.”

Nadine scanned Eve’s face. “You call that minimal. You’ve got a black eye. And what’s wrong with your hand?”

“Minimal,” Eve said again. “You gave me the window. I used you to open the window. You went on the air with what I gave you, which wasn’t a lie. I couldn’t give you the rest, for obvious reasons. And I couldn’t give you the rest and ask you to report half a story. I don’t know all the Friendship Rules, but I’m going to say one of them’s not

asking and expecting a friend to compromise her professional integrity to open a window for you.”

Nadine huffed, then pulled out Eve’s desk chair and sat. She drank some coffee. “The Lexington Avenue op wasn’t bullshit?”

“No, it wasn’t. We were following a viable lead. Viable because the person giving us that lead believed it. That would be her father.”

Nadine straightened in the chair. “Her father flipped on her?”

“Not exactly, and if you want to ask questions, why don’t we do it?

I’ve got a case to close.”

Nadine sat another moment. “I hated getting scooped by that putz from New York–One.”

Eve shrugged again. “Happens, right? He’s probably going to hate you going on with details of the arrest—with a follow-up on the result of the interview with said suspect.”

“Yeah, he is.” Nadine pushed up. “I need to trust you.”

“And you can. Nadine, both Roarke and Peabody took hits—body armor kept those hits from sending them to the morgue.”

“You?”

“Yeah, and me. The thing is, without the distraction, she might’ve hunkered down and distracted us by picking off civilians a couple blocks away. But she didn’t have time to go there because we got in. She focused on you, then she had to focus on us. Minimal damage,” Eve repeated.

“All right. I’m going to think about all that. But right now, I’m going to tell my camera to come in. We’ll get this on the air. I suppose offering you makeup for that face is a waste of time. You want those bruises to show.”

“Hey. I earned them.” Eve smiled.

P

—

eabody stepped out of Observation, where she and Mira had been watching a bored, sulky-eyed Willow and talking about

tomorrow’s birthday party.

She walked to the Interview room door, opened it.

Willow glanced up. She’d shorn off the dreads so her dark hair hung shaggy and short. Like Eve, she sported some visible bruising.

“About fricking time.”

“It’s going to be another couple minutes,” Peabody told her. “Do you want a drink?”

“Jesus. Yeah.” Willow shrugged. “Orange fizzy.”

On a nod, Peabody turned, then jolted when she came face-to- face with Eve. “Sorry. I didn’t think you were ready. I offered to get the kid a drink.”

“Fine. Just—here comes the APA. Just don’t take all damn day.” “Rabbit quick.” In her haste, Peabody left the door slightly ajar. “Dallas.”

“Reo. I told you we didn’t need that damn deal.”

“We made the deal with Mackie for good reasons, and you know it. And without his information you wouldn’t have known what kind of firepower you were going in against.”

“That’s the least of it. Dealing with him for information on her? Making that agreement that ties into trying her as a minor? I’d’ve brought her down without it. I did bring her down, goddamn it. How about you explain to families of all the victims how the person who took their lives does a couple of years for it?”

“Would you have preferred notifying more families their loved ones were in the morgue?”

“With your deal, I can just wait until she’s out at eighteen to start doing that again.”

“Rehabilitation—”

“Oh, don’t even start that crap with me. People like me risk everything to put people like her in a cage. Then you deal it down to nothing so they walk out and do it all again. She does under three years, and you call that a win.”

“It’s not about winning, it’s about doing our jobs. We both did our jobs, and this is where we stand. If you convince her to confess, we can save the taxpayers’ money, avoid a trial, and move on. Now do you want to tie this up so we can both go home, or do you want to stand here and bitch at me about how the system works?”

“The system sucks.”

“Are we ready?” Peabody asked as she came back, fizzy in hand. “We’re ready. I don’t need you in there, Reo.”

“Not your call. We’re on the same side, Dallas, so suck it up.” Peabody pushed open the door.

Face set, eyes still flashing with anger, Eve walked in. “Record on.

Dallas, Lieutenant Eve; Peabody, Detective Delia; Reo, Assistant Prosecuting Attorney Cher, entering Interview with Mackie, Willow.”

She reeled off the rest of the data as Peabody set the fizzy on the table. Willow picked it up, held it in her restrained hands, and sipped with a smirk on her face.

“Have you been read your rights, Miss Mackie?”

“Yeah. And sure, I understand them fine. Banged you up pretty good. Too bad your hand got in the way of my knife.”

“Don’t be disrespectful.” Peabody sent her a disapproving scowl. “You’re in deep enough.”

“Could’ve taken you,” Willow shot back. “And you’d be as dead as that idiot who played you in the vid.”

“Back-talking adults isn’t going to help you,” Peabody warned. “You’re in serious trouble, Willow.”

“You busted into my house. I defended myself.”

“We entered your mother’s house duly warranted,” Eve corrected. “And found you in possession of numerous illegal weapons. You utilized those weapons to attack police officers.”

Willow smiled. She might have been an attractive young woman, despite the bruises and scrapes a few passes with the healing wand and some ice packs hadn’t soothed away. But there was ugliness in that smile.

She lifted her middle finger, scratched her cheek with it as she looked at Eve. “Not my weapons. I used them to defend myself.”

“You fired on police officers,” Eve reminded her.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know you were cops?” “Because we identified ourselves as same.”

“Like that means dick.”

“You saw the vid? The Icove Agenda?”

“Sure. Every time I watch it, I root for you to get blown up in the Icove lab.” Smiling, Willow rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Maybe one day.”

“But you didn’t recognize me?” “Only saw you for a second.”

“That would be the second before you tossed a flash grenade in a bid to escape.”

“Defense.” Willow shrugged again. “Doesn’t matter if I knew or not.

I was defending myself and my home. I’ve got a right.”

“Willow, you knew who we were.” Peabody shook her head—the disapproving teacher. “This disrespect isn’t helping. Maybe you were taken by surprise, maybe you acted on impulse, instinct, but—”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“What were you doing with all those weapons?” Eve demanded. “Keeping them secure.”

“Where did you get them?”

“Not mine, remember? I’m too young to buy or own weapons.

Fifteen.” She grinned wide. “Remember?”

Teeth set, Eve shot a hard glance at Reo. “You were in possession of the weapons. You used several of the weapons.”

“I know how to take care of myself.”

“How did you learn to use the weapons, the laser rifles, the flash grenades, the handhelds?”

“My father taught me. He’s twice the cop you ever thought about being.”

“I guess that’s why I put him in a cage, where he’s going to stay for the rest of his life.”

“You only have him because he let you.” “Is that so?”

“Fucking A, it’s so.”

“If you think I can’t bring a funky-junkie down, you didn’t pay attention to the vid.”

“Vid’s bullshit anyway. Just Hollywood crap.” “Your father’s a junkie, and that’s no bullshit.”

“So he couldn’t hack it.” Lip curled, Willow jabbed out a finger. “See how you’d handle it if some fucker smeared your sugar daddy all over the pavement.”

“And the way to handle it was the funk for him, and planning how to kill everyone he blamed. Or having you do it because he can’t even hold a weapon steady these days.”

“So you say.”

“So I do. Do you want to deny it?”

Willow yawned, kicked back some to stare at the ceiling. “This is boring. You’re boring. Dallas,” she said, shifting her gaze to meet

Eve’s. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. One of these days you’re not going to be wearing body armor. One of these days maybe you’ll just be walking down the street, and out of nowhere— Bang! You’re dead.

Bet they won’t make a vid out of that.”

Eve kept her gaze steady, and she saw, clearly, what Zoe Younger had feared. She saw the killer inside. “You want me dead, Will?”

“I’d rather you were dead than me sitting here bored out of my mind.”

“Bored? Then let’s move it along. Stop wasting time. Let’s go back to Central Park. Three dead there. How did you pick them?”

“Who says I did?”

“Your father. He’s confessed. He called you his eyes, his hands.

You made those strikes, Willow. He couldn’t pull it off.” “I got my eyes and hands from him.”

“He ruined his own by going on the funk.”

Willow shrugged, then studied her fingernails. “That’s his deal, not mine. The way I look at it, drugs, alcohol, all that shit is bogus. They don’t keep it real.”

“You like it real.”

“What’s the point if you’re not feeling it? You’re not knowing it?

You’re not doing it?”

Eve opened the file, took out photos of the first three victims. “How did you feel when you did this?”

Willow shifted forward, gave the photos a good, long study. What Eve saw in her eyes wasn’t curiousity or interest. It certainly wasn’t shock.

It was glee.

Not bored, Eve realized. Enthralled, excited, and stringing the process out. Because it kept her at the center.

“Those are primo strikes.” Willow paused to take a swig of her fizzy. “Anyone who can make strikes like that? They’re the elite.”

“Are you the elite?”

“No such thing as second best.” Smug, she tipped her fizzy side to side. “That’s just a wuss term for loser. It’s first, or it’s nothing.”

“So making strikes like this puts you in first, makes you elite.” “Could you do it?”

“Can’t say.” Now Eve shrugged. “Never tried. Then again, I’m not interested in killing somebody a mile away while they skate around on an ice rink.”

“You couldn’t, and that’s bottom line. I’m guessing you can barely hit the mark at anything over ten yards with your sidearm, much less handle a long-range weapon with any accuracy. You’d’ve missed by that mile, zipped some asshole bopping down Fifty-Second Street.”

“But then I wouldn’t have, what is it, about ten years of training, instruction, practice. Wouldn’t have a former Army sniper and SWAT officer indulging my hobby.”

“Hobby, my ass!” Teeth bared, Willow shoved forward. “And it takes more than training, instruction, takes more than practice. All that’s important, sure, but it takes talent, it takes innate skill.”

“So you were born to kill.”

Easing back, Willow smiled again. “I was born to hit what I aim at.” “Why aim at her?” Eve tapped Ellissa Wyman.

“Why not her?”

“Just random, just because?” Eve angled her head, shook it. “I don’t think so. Come on, Willow, she was a type, just the type you can’t stand. Out there showing off, day after day, like it mattered she could do a few spins and jumps on a pair of blades. Like being pretty made her somebody.”

“Now she’s just a body.”

“How did it feel to make her just a body? To cut off her life with one pull of the trigger with her out there in her show-off red suit? I think it got you off. It got you juiced so your aim was off with the main target, with Michaelson.”

“Bullshit.” Insult, rage, a wash of disgust skimmed over Willow’s face. “He went down the way I wanted him to go down. Gut shot, bleeding out on the ice. Feeling it, knowing it.”

“You wanted him to suffer?”

“He did, didn’t he? I don’t miss, got that? Do you got that? I gave him time for pain, time to know he’d never get up again. If the old bastard had put us first, my father would still have his eyes and hands.”

“Then he wouldn’t need you to do his work. He wouldn’t need you.”

“I’m his. I’m his first. His only.”

“You wouldn’t have been his only if Susann hadn’t run into traffic.” “She was an idiot.”

Eve widened her eyes. “You killed all these people over an idiot?” In her default gesture, Willow shrugged, looked up at the ceiling. “I know you must have loved her.” Peabody infused her voice with

just enough pity. “To do all this, I know you must have loved her, thought the world of her.”

“Oh please.” Derision dripped through the two words. “She could barely remember how to put her own shoes on every morning.

Totally loserville. Sooner or later my old man would’ve walked away from that. Winners walk away. But he didn’t get the chance.”

“These people are dead because your father couldn’t walk away a winner.” Eve considered it. “Maybe that’s part of it. You killed Wyman fast, aimed so Michaelson could suffer, then—what about Alan Markum?”

“Don’t know him.”

“Your third.” Eve nudged the photo closer.

“Right. Didn’t like his face. Laughing and smiling while he stumbled around the ice with the bitch. I could’ve taken her out, too. Two for one, but I didn’t want to push my father right off. We’d agreed on three.”

“Lay it out for me.” Eve gestured. “How the two of you planned it, picked the nest, stalked Michaelson.”

“Seriously? What’s the point?”

“The record. You’ve got nothing better to do.” “Anything’s better.”

But with a huge sigh, Willow laid it out.

She spoke of her father drinking, starting on illegals after Susann died. His anger, depression.

“Just sitting around the apartment most of the time, half-drunk, half-stoned, especially after that fuckhead lawyer told him no chance for a suit, for his day in court. I pulled him out.” Fiercely, Willow jabbed her fingers at her own chest. “I got him out of that hole.”

“How did you do that?”

“Crying’s for losers. He needed to get pissed. Take action. They fucked with us? We fuck with them, and we fuck harder.”

Eve leaned back. “You’re trying to tell us it was your idea? This mission? Killing Michaelson, Officer Russo, Jonah Rothstein, and the others on the hit list—including innocent bystanders of your choice— was your idea?”

“Is something wrong with your hearing? Do you need me to speak louder?”

“Watch your tone.”

Willow merely flicked a sneer at Peabody’s order. “Oh, fuck you and your tone. You want me to lay it out because you’re all too stupid to see it. I’m laying it out.”

“Why not start with Fine?” Eve demanded. “He’s the one who killed Susann. He was driving the vehicle that struck her.”

“What, are you brain dead? We hit Fine, even an asshole cop could make a connection to Dad. We end with Fine.”

“He wanted to save Fine until last.”

Once again Willow leaned forward, sneering. “Did you get the part where I said he was drunk and stoned most of the time? Crying into his brew the other half? I figured the who and where and when. You think he could come up with a mission? He couldn’t get out of his own way until I pulled him out of it.”

“You pulled him out by suggesting you kill the people you felt were culpable in Susann’s death.”

“You could say I laid it out for him—and put conditions on it.” Picking up her fizzy again, she gestured with it. “He had to cut back on the booze and the funk, pull himself to-fucking-gether. He mostly stopped drinking altogether. Funk’s harder, but he throttled back a little. And when my old man’s himself, he knows how to plan ops.

“He came up with adding to the range, so we took a few more trips out west, and I worked on my skills. He’s a damn good instructor when he’s on.”

“You stalked your targets, got their routines, and/or researched where they’d be at certain times. Like Jonah Rothstein. You knew he’d be at Madison Square for the concert.”

“The guy was a raging fan-o-holic. Counting down the days, then the hours till he saw that old, totally over rocker. My dad, he did most of the research, but I helped when I could get away from Zoe—that’s

the bio-tube where I incubated. And I picked the nests. He wanted closer initially, but then he saw I could do it.”

“How long did you work on the plan, on the details?”

“A good, solid year. He needed to clean up, at least some. We needed to stockpile weapons, the IDs, walk through the strategies and tactics.”

“You moved out of his apartment.”

“We needed a secure HQ, so yeah, bit by bit we moved what we needed to the new place. We knew we’d have to move fast when we started, hit targets daily, keep the chaos going. You got lucky, nailing down our ID.”

“Is that what you call it when somebody’s better than you, smarter than you? Luck?”

“Give me half a break. If you were so good, so smart, I wouldn’t have to sit here spoon-feeding you every detail. You’d already know.”

“Got me there,” Eve said, because she did. She saw it all, in hideous detail. “Don’t stop now. Educate me.”